


Something Sacred

by syredronning



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:43:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning: consensual dad-and-son roleplay<br/>Author's Note: Written for this <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/2494.html?thread=4924862#t4924862">prompt</a> in the ST:XI kink fest: "Kirk has daddy issues. Kirk looks up to McCoy, whom he is totally bangin'... Full-on leather daddy mystique optional but so, SO supported." With a nod to George Michael and "Father Figure", title stolen from there. <br/>Many thanks to 6street for the beta! All remaining errors and weaknesses are mine.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Something Sacred

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: consensual dad-and-son roleplay  
> Author's Note: Written for this [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/2494.html?thread=4924862#t4924862) in the ST:XI kink fest: "Kirk has daddy issues. Kirk looks up to McCoy, whom he is totally bangin'... Full-on leather daddy mystique optional but so, SO supported." With a nod to George Michael and "Father Figure", title stolen from there.   
> Many thanks to 6street for the beta! All remaining errors and weaknesses are mine.

So here we go again, down into the dark, up into the light, depending on how you define one or the other. The steps are bathed in grey shadows, the floor dirty. I'm all in dark leather, chaps and open vest, a costume that transforms me. You're all in white and light blue, which would look innocent if not for the large tears in your jeans, right and left right below your ass. I loosely hook my hand around your waist when we step into the first hall, making it clear to every hungry guy around that you're mine.

My gaze sweeps the bar and it's almost empty, a quiet evening just as I prefer. You ask me if you could get us drinks, and it's a coke for you and a bourbon for me and I sit down at a table close by while you get the drinks, eager and with a smile. You serve and sit down next to me, your leg pressing against mine. Your lips are a little open; I can see your tongue, and I revel in the sight of you offering everything just for me to take.

My hand is on your upper thigh, we're not talking, it just slips there and strokes. You spread your legs a little, wanting more. I slap your thigh, which brings a brilliant smile to your face. We down the drinks and move on, me leading the way into the dark catacombs of the club, where cliché men do cliché boys and we're right there in the middle, your brightness making people turn their heads. I pull you into a quiet corner, down on the leather couch I'd never touch under any other circumstances. You lean back into my embrace as I pull you against my chest, playing with one hardening nipple under your shirt.

"So you've been a good boy?" I ask, and you chuckle a little breathlessly, and a little amused. I always ask and you always say no, and we both know how the game's played. You get up and unbutton your jeans, and I slip my fingers into the waistband and pull them down over your ass. You wear white briefs which hide little of your curved-up erection, and I can't help moving my fingers over the material for a moment, following its line. And when I pull you over my lap, it's pressing against my leg, just as you can feel my hard-on poking your chest, right under your heart.

I shift the fabric from your cheeks, pulling it tightly together into your crack so that your ass is bare under my right hand. Then I start spanking you, steady and firm, until you start squirming. It's always my hand, nothing else - memories of stepfathers with belts don't have any place between us.

I hold you down until you breathe the magic words, _please, dad, I'm sorry_, and I wait to hear them once more before I stop spanking. My face feels as hot as your ass, heated and feverish, and it's always in this moment that something inside of me surges and wonders what the hell I'm doing here. But then you turn your head and look at me, so unmasked and unbelievably vulnerable that my heart skips a beat; the cocky bastard gone, leaving only the boy who wants to be loved. I put back your briefs where they belong and pat your ass and order you to get up. You button up the jeans, slow and sexy, and I stare at your fingers working over your bulging crotch, my right hand in my own lap, stroking my dick through the leather jock.

There's that trademark Kirk grin back, and I'd love to bend you over the next best table and fuck the daylights out of you. But I'm your daddy here and fucking is for another time and place. God knows it took me long enough to wrap my mind around this game after hearing the d-word in the heat of a long-gone night, and I'm not gonna screw up the one way I can play along.

"I wanna make it up to you," you say and get down on your knees, your warm hands on my thighs. "Please, dad." Your fingers crawl upwards, your thumbs sliding over the skin left free by the chaps, and I spread my legs. Your lips are open again, your tongue licking over them, and I follow its tip on the way, left, right, up.

"Sure, son." I undo the one clip that holds the jock, and it falls down, leaving my erection uncovered. You stare at it in adoration, an angelic smile for a fleeting moment before you close your hands around the base and lower your wet, sweet lips over it. You take in the full length, leaving a trail of warm wetness on the way up. I cradle my hands into your hair, not pushing, just holding, feeling, wanting to be close to you as you make love to my dick as if it's the first and last time, giving all you've got. You're working your magic, soft tongue and scraping teeth and sucking the right spots and I wonder if I'm going to hell for whispering _fine, son, fine, please your daddy_ as I keep stroking your hair.

I'm so close and you know it and you tease and that's not what I want right now. I lightly slap your cheek, my hand in your face like I'd scold a kid, and you're instantly back in line. _Good boy_, I moan and start rolling my hips as it's suddenly too much, too good, and I come deep into your throat and into your face and onto your shirt in spurting shots. And then I pull your head back into my lap, all wet and sticky, and I want to feel your rapid breath against my skin, your heartbeat under my fingertips. I rock a little longer, rocking off the tension, and you reach around my hips and hold me.

"I'm so proud of you," I manage to say at last and pull you up, look into your eyes. They're dilated, shining, bright, and I kiss you open-mouthed, claiming you. You're horny and that's fine, and in a little while we'll make it to the checkroom, have a shower, get clean and change back. I'll probably suck you off right there on the cold bathroom floor, because I need to know so badly that we're going back to normal, back to being Bones and Jim, and that when I call you kid it doesn't have anything to do with what we do here. Tomorrow night I wanna make love to you and maybe fuck you or get fucked and it will be back to reality, tough guys living tough lives and giving a shit about the past.

But tonight I sit here and kiss you and whisper _love you, son_ into your ear, because there's nothing wrong with a fantasy that makes us both a little happier, deep inside. Nothing at all.


End file.
